


Eilonwy Wanderer

by Edonohana



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Apprenticeships, Baking, Candy, Cooking, Dessert & Sweets, First Aid, Food, Gen, Gift Giving, Medieval Medicine, Munchings and Crunchings, Running Away, Travel, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana
Summary: Eilonwy travels Prydain in search of her place in life.





	Eilonwy Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scioscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/gifts).



If Eilonwy had to sew one more stitch of embroidery, she was going to scream. But young ladies didn’t scream from frustration at being cooped up all day learning to be young ladies. In fact, Eilonwy didn’t think they screamed at all. They might let out a dainty shriek at the sight of a scurrying mouse, or a delighted squeal at the sight of a pretty dress. But a scream, a real scream that empties your lungs and turns your face red and makes other people clap their hands over their ears? That, she was sure, was on the long list of things young ladies didn’t do.

So was braiding a rope out of bedsheets and using it to climb out the window in the dead of night. Not to mention sneaking to the stable, retrieving a hidden pack of travel supplies, and riding out by the light of the moon, even if it _was_ on one’s own horse. 

“Well,” Eilonwy murmured to Lluagor, patting her neck, “It seems perfectly clear that I’m not a young lady. Or a horse thief. Or a seamstress. The question is, what _am_ I?”

Lluagor nickered. Eilonwy hoped it was a nicker of sympathy rather than an answer to the question. How frustrating if the mare knew her destiny but couldn’t share it in a way a human could understand. Though possibly even more frustrating for Lluagor. 

“Achren might know the speech of horses,” Eilonwy said. “She knew all sorts of things. But I’m sure anything any animal would say around her—or to her—wouldn’t be very polite. She was unkind to them, you know. Actually, you _don’t_ know. You never met her. Luckily for you.”

Lluagor snorted, possibly in agreement. Or possibly to inquire about her next feeding. 

“Soon,” Eilonwy promised her. “Once I figure out exactly where I am.”

She and several ladies in waiting had accompanied Queen Teleria on a visit to her friend, Queen Lleucu of Llanymddyfri. Eilonwy had been excited at the chance to leave the all-too-familiar grounds of Dinas Rhydnant, but soon found that one castle was much like another. 

“It’s like switching a toad with another toad!” she’d indignantly told Lluagor. “Only more so. I’m sure toads have no trouble telling each other apart. I expect their warts are quite unique if you pay attention.”

However, Llanymddyfri had one big advantage over Mona: it wasn’t an island. Seizing the opportunity, Eilonwy had fled, not forgetting to leave Queen Teleria and Queen Lleucu letters thanking them for their hospitality. Unfortunately, she had left before getting the chance to look at a map. She did know that Caer Dallben was southeast of Llanymddyfri. She just wasn’t sure exactly how far southeast…

Eilonwy rode all night. The light of the full moon was sufficient to see her way, but she could feel as well as see that the ground was becoming squishy underfoot. She tried to guide Lluagor out of the marsh, as she hadn’t enjoyed her last experience in one, but in vain. When dawn broke, she found herself at the bottom of a ravine with a very familiar hut at the other end, with lumpy walls blotched with mildew and a roof that looked like a nest constructed by a particularly feckless bird.

“Oh, no,” Eilonwy murmured. Her thoughts on toads and their unique patterns of warts instantly came back to her, along with the conviction that she didn’t want to find out for herself if she’d been correct. She tugged at Lluagor’s reins. But it was too late. The enchantresses were emerging from their cottage.

“Good morning, little tadpole.” Jeweled pins sparkled from the wild tangle of Orddu’s hair, but her shapeless dress was even more muddy and stained then ever.

“Oh, she’s not a tadpole any more,” said Orwen, fingering her string of white beads. “I’d say she’s grown up to be a charming little toad.”

“Little indeed,” muttered Orgoch from the shadowed doorway. “Barely a mouthful.”

“Oh, hush now, Orgoch,” scolded Orddu. “This is why you didn’t get to be Orwen today.”

“Good morning,” said Eilonwy. “How lovely to see you all. And now I must be off! Now that I know I’m in the Marshes of Morva, I can get to Caer Dallben from here.”

“And all the way back to where you began,” remarked Orddu. “Such a long, tiresome way to travel, only to end up where you started.”

“Oh, but some birdies are made for such trips,” said Orwen. “Homing pigeons like nothing better than flying there and back again.”

“All journeys come to the same end,” muttered Orgoch, licking her lips. “Eventually.”

Eilonwy frowned. At first she’d thought the enchantresses were talking about her journey from Caer Dallben to Mona to Llanymddyfri and now back to Caer Dallben. But Dallben had packed her off to Mona without so much as a by-your-leave. Why _wouldn’t_ he pack her straight back to Queen Teleria and the young lady lessons? 

_It’s worse than waking up in the morning and falling out of bed before you even stand up,_ she thought. _Not to mention before you’ve had breakfast!_

“Thank you for the warning,” she said.

“Warning?” Orddu clicked her tongue. “My dear little firefly, we don’t hand out warnings for free, and you haven’t given us anything. That was no warning. It was simply a comment.”

Though Eilonwy had spoken under the assumption that it was safest to be polite to the enchantresses, she decided that more thanks, however polite, could become decidedly unsafe. They had once declined the offer of her bauble, her ring, and her horse. She didn’t want them to consider what else she might have that she owed them.

“Good morning,” she said again. “And goodbye.”

“Have a lovely journey,” said Orwen, waving eagerly. “There’s nothing more magical than a full circle. Sometimes the best way around is, well, _round_.” She rolled a pale bead between her fingers.

“Like a nice, plump berry,” croaked Orgoch. “Or a nice, plump—”

“Do be quiet, Orgoch,” said Orddu. “But if Orgoch isn’t the only one who’s hungry today, you might try Caer Penrhys, to the west. Its lord always gives travellers a good meal.”

“Or we could have a meal here,” suggested Orgoch, her eyes gleaming like hot coals from within the darkness of her hood. “Do stay.”

“Goodbye!” cried Eilonwy. 

At her urging, Lluagor galloped down the gully as if it was on fire, not slowing until they were well out of the marshes. Dubious as Eilonwy was about taking Orddu’s advice, she did head west. She had food in her saddlebags, but it had been selected more for durability than for enjoyability. Besides, if she wasn’t going to return to Caer Dallben—not just yet, anyway—she wanted to sit down and think about where to go next, rather than tiring out Lluagor by thinking while she rode to nowhere in particular.

Caer Penrhys was a small castle set in a pleasant valley. As she rode closer, she could smell the tempting scents of baking bread and roasting meat. 

When she approached the gates, a guard jerked his thumb at the little wooden door off to the side of the main entrance. “Kitchen’s that way. Fine horse you have!”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she?” Eilonwy replied, beaming. 

A stable boy appeared to pat Lluagor’s nose and offer her a carrot, so she handed off the reins to him. 

“Kitchen’s that way,” the stable boy said, pointing.

Eilonwy thanked him and went through the little wooden door. Evidently that was where travellers were served, which made much more sense than the way it was done in Mona, with meals paraded down long corridors so everything was cold by the time it made its way to the grand dining hall. 

When she opened the door, she was nearly knocked down by a blast of heat and a bellow of “Took you long enough!”

The roar came from a huge man with a glittering cleaver in one hand and an immense skewer in the other. Before Eilonwy could reply, he stabbed the skewer in the direction of a polished wooden board, a knife, and an immense pile of assorted vegetables, and bellowed, “Get to work! Peel them, then chop them into pieces like this!”

He put down the skewer and cleaver, and snatched up a turnip and the knife. Almost before Eilonwy could blink, he’d peeled the turnip, tossed the peels in a rubbish bin, and chopped it into a mound of perfect squares of exactly the same size. Then he thrust the hilt of the knife into her hand. “Peel! Chop! Now!”

Eilonwy thought it was just a _little_ ungracious of the lord of Caer Penrhys to make weary travelers work for even a single meal. But perhaps he was understaffed. She began to chop.

Achren and Queen Teleria had cooks who did not take kindly to princesses in the kitchen, but Eilonwy had sometimes helped Coll prepare vegetables for plain but hearty stews and roasts. However, Coll had never asked her to cut them into any particular shape. She did her best, but was frequently interrupted by roars of “Not like that!” and “Hold the knife this way!” and “Hold the turnip like this!” and “carrots go in the orange bowl, leeks go in the green bowl!”

The mound of vegetables seemed never-ending, and Eilonwy’s hands ached and her ears were ringing by the time she was done. She’d had no idea that cooking could be so much work, nor that anyone could care so much about doing it exactly right. 

“Not bad!” bellowed the cook, making her jump. “Not bad at all! Very promising, in fact! Now eat your breakfast. You’ve earned it. And you’ll need your strength for lunch.” 

Before Eilonwy could tell him that she hadn’t intended to stay for lunch, especially if she’d have to chop for that too, he’d pushed up a stool, sat her down on it, and set a plate of breakfast and a mug of fresh milk before her. She’d worked up much more of an appetite than was proper for a young lady, so it was just as well that she wasn’t one, because the aromas rising from her plate were the most appetizing she’d ever smelled. 

Eilonwy had eaten bacon and bread and eggs and milk before, of course. But never had her fried bread had such a delectable golden crispness, never had her bacon been so savory and without either burnt or flabby parts, never had her eggs been so perfectly cooked, never had her milk been so deliciously sweetened and spiced. When she finally finished, she looked up at the cook’s fierce red face with wonder, knowing she was in the presence of a master. 

“I’ve never—” she began, but he interrupted her. 

“Never eaten anything so good! I know! Only Hywel son of Hugh can cook like this! Ah, but if you work hard and observe carefully, my young apprentice, perhaps some day you will too. Now for the baking!”

“Wait!” Eilonwy cried out. “I’m not your apprentice.”

“No?”

“No. I’m Eilonwy daughter of Angharad, a… a wanderer. I think the guards and you must have mistaken me for the apprentice you were expecting.” With a regretful glance at her scraped-clean plate, she added, “Though I wish I _was_ your apprentice. I’d love to learn how to cook like that.”

Hywel looked her over, then roared, “Then so you shall! My apprentice isn’t here, but you are. And look at your turnips! Very good for a first time! Anyone would think you’ve wielded a knife before.”

“I have,” said Eilonwy. “In battle. Oh, and a little bit in a kitchen.”

Hywel’s eyebrows rose, but he asked no questions. Instead, he roared out, “Then we shall turn those warrior hands of yours to a finer task! Come, and I will teach you the secrets of baking!”

In the time that followed, Hywel’s apprentice never showed up, though a message eventually arrived with an apology and an explanation that the girl had decided to take up shepherding instead. Eilonwy hoped she was happy chivvying sheep around Prydain’s green hills and valleys. For her own part, though the kitchen was both hard and exacting work, she was happy to learn how to roast and bake and preserve and decorate, how to season and when to taste, when she could improvise and when measurements must be precise. 

“Life is a cake!” Hywel declared, carefully removing a golden-brown cake flavored with apples and elderflowers from the oven. “If what you add to the batter is none of the best, it doesn’t matter how carefully you watch the baking. But if all your ingredients are well chosen and carefully measured, then what you lift from the oven at the end will be far more than the sticky mess that went in.”

After that cake was served to the lord and his family and dinner guests, including several weary travellers, Eilonwy and Hywel sat down, tired but content, to eat slices of the second cake they’d made for the guards and stableboys and others who worked at the castle. He’d made one, and had been so busy with it that he hadn’t even supervised her as she’d made the other. 

“Which cake did you bake?” Hywel suddenly roared at her. “Eh, apprentice? The one for the lord, or the one for us?”

“You sent the one you made to the lord, didn’t you?” Eilonwy asked. “In case there was something wrong with mine.”

“Here, apprentice! Taste!” He slid her a plate with two slices of cake on it. “One from the lord’s table. One from ours. One mine. One yours. Which is which?”

Eilonwy tasted both slices of cake. Both were fluffy yet moist, sweet yet tangy, with a faint scent of flowers. “I can’t tell the difference.”

“Nor can I!” Hywel slapped her on the back, nearly knocking her off her stool. “Stay with me, Eilonwy daughter of Angharad, and become Eilonwy Cook! Never again wield a knife except to feed people and make them happy!”

Eilonwy had enjoyed her time in the kitchen, but Hywel’s words made her realize that she couldn’t spend her life there. As long as there were Huntsmen and Cauldron Born, she couldn’t renounce her weapons. 

“Thank you, Master Cook. But my blade must have more than one use. I love cooking and I’m grateful for all you’ve taught me, but it isn’t the life for me. I won’t stop using the skills you’ve taught me, though, wherever I go and whatever I do. And I know they’ll make people happy.” Honestly, she added, “Especially me.”

Hywel gave a sigh that blew her hair back, then crammed her pack with samples of her work in the kitchen, tiny jars of herbs and spices, and finally gave her the knife that he’d thrust into her hand when she’d first entered his realm. “Mind you only use this one in the kitchen!” 

“I promise,” said Eilonwy. 

She rode away from Caer Penrhys with stronger arms and a plumper belly, burn scars on her hands and new skills at her fingertips, but with more questions in her mind than ever. If she wasn’t a young lady or a cook, or a horse thief or a toad, then what was she?

After a few days’ travel to nowhere in particular other than away from Caer Penrhys, Caer Dallben, Llanymddyfri, Mona, and the Marshes of Morva, the sky went dark and a bitter rain began to fall. The ground grew slippery and treacherous. Eilonwy dismounted to lead Lluagor, keeping the reins in one hand and holding her bauble aloft to light her way, hoping for a convenient grove of trees or a cave without too many bats.

As she passed a slope, she heard a moan. Eilonwy held up her bauble, and saw a girl her own age lying on the muddy ground and struggling to get up.

“Hello,” called Eilonwy, running up. “Are you hurt?”

The girl raised herself on one elbow. “Yes. I was chasing a lost sheep, and I slipped. I can’t walk. Could you get help?”

“I _could_ ,” said Eilonwy. “But I don’t see why I _should_ , when I can be the help myself.”

She examined the girl. Achren had taught her some simple healing, and she’d learned a little more at Caer Dallben. The girl, who introduced herself as Mari daughter of Duthgy, had a broken ankle. Eilonwy bound it with a branch and strips of cloth torn from the hem of her dress. With an arm over Eilonwy’s shoulder, Mari was able to hobble to Lluagor. Eilonwy gave her a boost up, and Mari directed her to the village where she lived.

“There,” said Mari, pointing to a small house. “Take me there.”

“Your home?” Eilonwy asked. “I don’t see any sheep. Or hear them, either.”

Despite her pain, Mari smiled. “No, you wouldn’t. It’s the home of Alfach Healer. I’d have to see her anyway, so I thought I’d save some time.”

Alfach Healer was plain and solid, with gray hair in a thick braid down her back. She easily lifted Mari from Lluagor, then directed Eilonwy to her stable, which was occupied by a pair of placid gray mares. It took Eilonwy some time to dry off Lluagor and make her a hot mash. When she returned to Alfach’s house, she found Mari asleep under a pile of blankets.

“I gave her valerian to help her sleep,” said Alfach. “Bones knit poorly in bodies in pain. Now let’s make sure you won’t catch a chill.” 

The next thing Eilonwy knew, she’d been dried off, bundled into a warm nightgown, and ensconced in a cozy chair with a mug of some hot drink in her hands. She took a sip. It had a strong flavor, but was sweet with honey.

“Ginger and elderberry infusion,” said Alfach, then gave Eilonwy a keen glance. “Your splint was nicely done. Are you a healer’s apprentice?”

“No,” said Eilonwy. “I’m not sure what I am. But I used to be apprentice to a master cook, so if you let me stay the night and give me the run of your kitchen and pantry, I can make you the best dinner and breakfast you’ve ever had!”

Alfach smiled. “Oh, are you the one who took the apprenticeship that Mari gave up? In that case, I’m happy to accept. I rarely have time to visit Caer Penrhys, but I have very fond memories of Hywel’s currant cakes.”

“I can make those for you,” Eilonwy said immediately. “That is, if you have currants.”

“I do,” replied Alfach. “Growing outside. Tomorrow you can pick them.”

The next day, Eilonwy watched as Alfach examined Mari’s ankle, then carefully sawed down a crutch to fit her. On Mari’s invitation, for she wanted her family to meet the girl who had rescued her, Eilonwy hopped into Alfach’s wagon to ride with them into the village. It was the most comfortable wagon she had ever ridden in. It was fitted with mattresses and, Alfach told her, it had been designed by a master carpenter to give a smooth ride.

“Ill and injured people shouldn’t be jolted about,” Alfach explained. “Just like we put a splint on a broken bone to keep the limb still, when moving it around might kill the person.” 

“I thought splints were just so the bone wouldn’t heal crooked,” Eilonwy said. “And so it’ll hurt less.”

“Oh, that’s true too,” said Alfach. “But broken bones have sharp edges. One hard jolt can send them slicing through softer parts. And if what they cut is a vital area, the person could bleed to death, or end up with a hand or foot paralyzed.”

“Can you please stop talking about horrible things that can happen to people with broken bones who ride in carts?” Mari called plaintively from the back. 

Alfach spoke no more of bones or blood. But Eilonwy couldn't stop thinking about what the healer said. How could she have learned how to make a splint, and even done it well, without ever understanding why it was important? How many other things did she do without knowing the reasons behind them, or even knowing that there were reasons she didn't know?

When Mari was delivered to her family and they’d finished thanking Eilonwy and Alfach, they invited Eilonwy to stay with them. 

“I promised Alfach I’d cook for her,” Eilonwy said. “But I’ll come visit you all later.”

“You can visit them now, if you like,” Alfach said. “I have to see some people in the village who I’ve been treating. I expect it’d be boring for you to come along.”

“No, it wouldn't,” said Eilonwy. “I’d like to come along, if you don’t mind.”

She accompanied Alfach on her trip through the village, and watched her treat a boy her own age who was very ill with a weak heart, an old woman who had fallen and broken her arm, four young children with an illness that was going around, and a smith’s apprentice who had been burned in an accident at the forge. Eilonwy was fascinated by Alfach’s knowledge of herbs, by her practicality in helping the old woman find ways to accomplish her household tasks when she could only use one hand, and by her patience and compassion. 

“Might I stay a while, and learn more from you?” Eilonwy asked at the end of the day. “I’ll cook for you every day.”

“Stay and be welcome,” said Alfach. “But in addition to cooking, I require that you teach me how to make those currant cakes.”

In the time that Eilonwy stayed with Alfach, she learned what questions to ask a person who had been taken ill, how to stitch wounds and set bones and help women give birth, and a great deal about herbs. The muscles that had been strengthened by kneading dough and butchering meat came in handy when she had to force a dislocated shoulder back into its socket or lift people too weak to roll over. 

Kenneric, the boy with the weak heart, got daily visits. Alfach gave him herbal infusions, and crushed more herbs into basins of hot water and had him breathe in the steam. He clearly enjoyed their visits, but he never seemed to get any better. 

After one visit, Eilonwy asked, “Why are his lips and fingernails blue? I know it's because of his sickness, but why does it happen? And why only those parts? Why not his whole body?”

“Nobody knows,” said Alfach. 

“His fingertips are swollen, too. Is that because of his heart, or is there some other reason?”

“It’s because of his heart. I’ve seen it before in people with similar conditions.”

“But why? What does the heart have to do with the fingers?” 

“Nobody knows,” said Alfach. “We knew more, once: more about healing, and more about the human body. That secret knowledge was written down, but Arawn stole it and locked it away in Annuvin.”

“Somebody should steal it back!” cried Eilonwy. “He should never have gotten his hands on it!”

Alfach glanced at her with calm gray eyes. “Perhaps it should never have been kept secret at all.” 

One night Kenneric’s father pounded on Alfach’s door in the middle of the night. Alfach and Eilonwy rushed to his house and stayed all night. But though the crisis passed, Eilonwy knew by dawn that Kenneric was dying. Maybe not that day. Maybe not that month. But soon. And when she caught his gaze, she knew he knew it too.

“Life is breath,” said Alfach as they walked away from his house. “Most of the time, we don’t even think of it. When we notice it, it’s often too late. But when it almost stops and then we breathe anew, ah, is anything sweeter?”

“But his breath will stop again,” said Eilonwy. “Nothing we’ve done has ever really helped him.”

“Nothing we’ve done has cured him,” Alfach corrected her. “We’ve helped him day by day, as much as we can. As I’ll continued to do until his breath stops for good. As all of ours will stop some day.”

“But what’s wrong with him, really? I know it’s a weak heart, but what does that mean? What makes it weak?”

“Nobody knows.”

Eilonwy stopped walking and looked at Alfach, who shrugged. “I know you don’t like that answer. But there’s far more that we don’t know than what we do. There are many who would claim knowledge that, truly, nobody has.” 

“I like stitching wounds and setting bones,” Eilonwy said. “And I like knowing the uses of herbs. But so much of what you do is like trying to carry water in a sieve, and never understanding why it's always empty by the time you get home.”

Alfach’s calm gaze told Eilonwy that the healer already knew what she was thinking. “You have the wit and skills to be a healer. You have the compassion. But you cannot accept that life and death do not bend to your desires, and that what you most need to know, you never will. Being a healer would not bring you joy.”

“I _wish_ being a healer was what I wanted,” Eilonwy said with a sigh. 

“You didn’t waste your time or mine,” Alfach said, undisturbed. “What you learned, you will always know. I don’t want my knowledge to get lost. I’m happy to pass it on to anyone who cares to learn, whether it becomes their life’s work or not. And now I can make those currant cakes.” 

She gave Eilonwy some carefully wrapped jars of salve and packets of herbs, and an invitation to come back any time. After Eilonwy took her leave of Alfach, she visited Kenneric and Mari to say goodbye. 

Lluagor pricked up her ears and pranced when Eilonwy turned her toward Caer Dallben. The mare obviously knew where _she_ belonged. 

They reached Caer Dallben at sunset. Taran ran to meet her with a shout of joy, and Gurgi nearly bowled her over with a rather leafy, hairy hug. The three of them walked into the cottage, where Coll and Dallben were waiting.

“I’m sorry if I made you worry,” Eilonwy said. “I tried to make it very clear in my letters that I wasn’t in any trouble, I was just going… somewhere else. Somewhere with no embroidery. Though it turned out that sewing has more uses than I realized. It’s much more interesting when you’re sewing a person. I mean a real person, not an embroidered person. Anyway, I have gifts for you all!” 

She dug into her pack. “Dallben, here’s a jar of comfrey salve for your joints. I know they ache when it gets cold. I made it myself, under the instruction of Alfach Healer.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “Alfach is a very wise woman.”

“Coll, I don’t have your gift yet because I have to measure you for it. But I know the wrist you broke in battle still aches when you have to lift heavy things, which you do every day, and you could use the comfrey salve too, now that I think of it. But what I think would be more helpful would be if I made you a brace for it, and now I know how.”

Coll smiled. “That does sound helpful.”

“Gurgi, I have food for you. Here’s some lemon-flavored rock sugar for crunching, and some peppered beef jerky for munching. I made it myself, from recipes I learned from Hywel Cook.”

“Munchings and crunchings!” Gurgi exclaimed ecstatically, cramming handfuls of both into his mouth. 

“I’m not sure you’re really appreciating the taste,” Eilonwy said doubtfully. “But I suppose it’s the texture that counts. And for you, Taran, I don’t have anything—”

“I don’t need a gift,” he said. “I’m just happy to have you back.”

“Will you stop interrupting me?” she exclaimed. “It’s worse than having bees build a hive on your head! I was going to say, I don’t have anything _yet_. Your gift is like Coll’s: I couldn’t make it till I came back here. It’s the best meal you’ve ever had. Will have. Will have had until the next one I make for you. I’m going to make all your favorite foods, which I _have_ noticed, don’t think I haven’t, only better than you’ve ever had them before because I specifically asked a master cook how to make them. And anything you especially like, I could make any time. So long as it’s in season. And so long as I’m still here.”

At that, Eilonwy turned to Dallben. “Can I stay? Or will you send me back to Queen Teleria?”

“Had you returned having learned nothing, I would have. But now?” Dallben shook his gray head. “If you didn’t learn what I meant for you to learn, you have learned nonetheless. Whether you stay or go must be of your own choosing.”

“I’ll stay,” said Eilonwy. “I missed you and Taran and Coll and Gurgi and Hen Wen, and not having to wear a crown that made my head ache. And I think I misunderstood Orddu and Orwen when they said I was going to come full circle. They meant I’d left Caer Dallben and was coming back to it, of course. How silly of me to think…”

Her voice trailed off as her gaze went to the one person she had no gift for, the one person who hadn’t risen to greet her, the one person she hadn’t missed. Achren sat by the fire, her back to Eilonwy, her silver hair shining against her black cloak. 

Slowly, Eilonwy stepped forward, then sat down beside her aunt. The fire warmed her face. Achren didn’t move, but only continued looking into the flames.

“You tried to teach me magic when I was a child,” said Eilonwy. “But I wasn’t a good student, and you weren’t a good teacher. Then you kidnapped me and tried to steal my magic for yourself. Part of the reason I didn’t come straight back to Caer Dallben was that I knew you were here, and I didn’t want to see you!”

“You need not see more than my back,” said Achren. “ _You_ were the one who approached _me._ ”

“Oh, I know. And I know you can’t harm me any more. But you lost your power, not your knowledge. You could still teach me.”

At that, Achren whipped her head around, quick as a striking snake. “And why should I do that?”

Eilonwy flinched, but held her ground. “Because if you don’t, your knowledge will be lost. And because I’m no longer a child. I apprenticed to a cook and a healer and they both thought I was an excellent student, even though, in the end, their crafts weren’t for me.”

“And?” said Achren coldly. “Anything else?”

Eilonwy bit her tongue, holding back tears. She’d given two excellent reasons, and Achren didn’t care. What else did she have? 

Then she thought back to their time at Spiral Castle, and of the enigmatic way Achren had spoken when she’d tried to teach Eilonwy magic. And of the words of the only other enchantresses Eilonwy had ever known. 

“I started with you. Now I’ve come back to you. You must have been powerless once. Now you’re powerless again. I’ve learned to be a better student. Maybe you’ve learned to be a better teacher.” Eilonwy took out her bauble, cupped it in her hands, and made it glow. “There’s nothing more magical than a full circle.”

“Hmm. Maybe you have learned something, after all.” Achren leaned forward and traced a circle in the ashes on the hearth. “Attend. It isn’t only magic that’s a circle. _Life_ is a circle. As we begin, so we end. Before birth we are nothing. After death we are nothing. But in between…” She traced a spiral within the circle. 

Eilonwy knew better than to interrupt Achren. But she thought, _Life is a journey. You ramble all around, you learn what you can, and then you come home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cyphomandra for help with the history of medical knowledge.


End file.
